Accomplishments

each lurks in their solitary spaces

calling this living, happiness, choice 

when all the others are gone but

it’s too exhausting 

and always disappointing 

to seek replacements 

so they squat, elderly hibernation 

cocooned in the detritus 

of lives well lived

or just the dregs of all that 

came and went, before

before now

before the vacuum

ghostly, gutted goals and dreams

all for what

even faith a tattered 

threadbare wrap 

keeping out nothing

but somehow

holding in everything 

Dreams of the (soon to be) past

At my dad’s house,

various people mill about

scarcely glancing at me

as they go about their business.

It’s like they don’t even see me

...like I’m not even there...

but I know they do

as their eyes cut toward me

briefly

as they hurry off

to do the things 

they have to do.

I watch, bemused, silent 

as friends and exes and 

even sisters

rush about and leave

without a word

and barely a side glance.

And that only from a few of them.

I wonder

who is leaving whom behind.

My mournful daddy stays, barely present.

He’s the only one that really looks at me.

But he’s not really there either.

Dedication

 To the

biological agents of

my existence:

blaming me for the 

fact of

the chaos

abuse

dysfunction

manipulative neglect

of my upbringing

and the after effects

in my adult years

well

it didn't take.

It wasn't my responsibility.

And it never was.

Suck it up.

In one year

It's all gone

Everything has been removed

All attachments

All obstacles

All friendships

All friendships

All local community

Family relationships are tattered , sundered, or nonexistent

Romantic possibilities vaporized one after the other without hardly a trace

At the time, all of the above was very painful

in the rearview mirror, the path is now so clear

The way has been cleared

Steps have been taken

God put up the sign posts

And invited me to travel

I am ready

Moving dreams

Why were any of my ex-husbands there?

being critical assholes but also being 

supposedly supportive and friendly and

pretending like we still had viable relationships

so weird to be helped and tripped at the same moment.

I was rightly reserved and suspicious of them

while others in the dream swarmed, alternately critical 

and 'helpful' in their advice and comments,

supposedly packing and such, but really, just making a bigger mess

than was already going on in

the usual general chaos of a home in the stages of moving.

When Mom showed up with Dad in tow,

her mouth running along the same old lines it always did,

I had to wake up in self defense.

Not listening to that shit any more either!

This is happening whether y'all like it or not.

Who asked your opinion and advice anyway,

especially the deceased?

Beat it. Life is for the living.

Though with some of the living, it's hard to tell they are.

In one hour

Early mornings

always burdened with 

body pain and despair

and wisps, 

sometimes torrents, 

of bad dreams,

a positive outlook is difficult to find.

Coffee, prayer, meditation

a fuzzy blanket, first daily inventory.

Within a mere sixty minutes,

a glimmer of hope arises

as the brain begins to tick

with ideas, guidance, inspiration

The perling warmth and surety

of the universe creeping 

once again

through 

the cells and the spirit

full to bursting with

that glow.

In one moment

In one moment

things ended.

A long time later,

another one moment,

the rage briefly flared

to inadvertently witness

the truth of the lies he told.

A twinge of sorrow, yet still

I was glad

to not have waited 

for the never-to-be offered 

so-called

‘best.’

Then and now

Some days
just remembering
how much you loved me
oh, how you loved me.

I didn't imagine that.

And I loved you too
adored you, in fact
still do, in fact
but there seems to be
no fix
broken trust and dishonesty
the twin nuclear bombs
of relationship endings.

But I miss you still
and I love you
oh
how
I
did.

Still.

"So it goes" - Taylor Swift

The Big C

You know what

I can't even cry

and 

sadness 

is more of 

an intellectual exercise 

than anything.

That fucking cancerous hell

is here 

in the life of 

someone I love 

and 

there is 

nothing 

we can do

except hunker down 

and wait 

for the storm 

...and his life...

to slowly pass.

Positivity

 

Image credit

sometimes

I need a reminder

to stop always looking at

the ass-end of life

and seek out the affirming.

My glimmers are

books

crafting

napping

a recovery meeting or three

cooking

affirmations

meditation

star trek binges

cartoons

blasting heavy metal music.

Hmmmm

I glimmer a lot

especially on weekends

but that's good.

Weary of the haters

Lately

seems like every time 

I open my mouth

to share my truth

which is also often

TRUTH

( and shared, often)

I am getting in trouble.

Shades of childhood

with mom yelling at me about 

how selfish I was for

declaring my feelings or having needs.

Shock. I was such a jerk as a kid. NOT.

Shadows of young adulthood

when people would either run away

when I vocalized my reality and pain

(okay, loudly)

or chastise or somehow 'punish' me

to achieve my silence and compliance.

Really? Haven't women been oppressed

enough through history? And so you are

going to call me a slut or a lesbian

or fire me or break up with me

because I said 'no' or challenged something?

Social media is now just a new way

for anonymous others 

(like a bunch of fucking chickens)

(who need punched in their whiney, secret/lying mouths)

to 'spank' me for speaking out, 

for using ALL of my words

for protesting bad behavior

injustice

discrimination of any type.

And so...my usual refrain:

FUCK YOU.

All of you.

I don't care.

I'm not shutting up.

I'm not going away.

(You go away. You fucking go away.

Further. Yes, further. Yes...you.

Yes, you. And then...

...when you get there...

...FUCK OFF SOME MORE.)

Cleaner

Staying single this last year

...after deciding to get and

stick to that status...

has been an adventure

not unlike my early sobriety.

I know it is good for me

and that I desperately need to do it

and I feel so much better mentally and emotionally

and the peace in my home and my head is unheard of!

But...I miss the companionship and 

the occasional intimacy.

I sure don't miss the bullshit, though.

I'm not sure whose b.s. it was

mine

or his/theirs

but it's not present right now.

However that works

I'll take it.

"Clean" - Taylor Swift

Power

Discrimination

Marginalization

Minimization

Segregation

Abomination

Unnatural

Perversions of god's plan.

Call it what you want,

But...

people, 

most especially and mostly white males, 

claim that these are their 

social and historical rights:

status and entitlement and

alleged genetic superiority

and 

god-given privileges.

Or,

it's tradition

and

the way 'it' has always been done.

Let's get real, real honest here.

It's really all about power.

Every 

fucking 

bit 

of 

it.

Don't you dare state that 

god, any god

gave you these rights.

Quit trying to dress up 

and justify and rationalize

your willful blindness,

your deliberate, assholish ignorance, 

your lazy, comfortable entitlement, 

your unwillingness, 

...violent unwillingness...

to give others the rights 

and privileges and power that 

you were given by an accident of birth.

A fucking accident of birth, 

you fucking pricks.

Endings

It's broken with my family...

both of them...

like it's broken with my exes

like it's broken with many former friends. 

When trust is destroyed

absolutely and utterly gutted, 

hacked, burned to the ground

by other's carelessness or

their pathological, destructive need

for control

Despite 

my begging and efforts

any and all professional 

and 

personal resources and efforts

not to mention the all-too-oft

abject debasement and humiliation...

once that trust is cut,

is sundered, 

is cauterized

I don't know how to fix it or 

put it back together.

Trust is like 

the spinal cord of 

a relationship.

It can take a lot of insult and injury.

But once it's cut...

there seems to be no way to 

stitch that back together, 

to heal, 

to restore

no matter how 

allegedly willing 

all parties are.

Even spiritual intervention 

doesn't seemed to matter.

Which, curiously, suggests that 

that sundering 

may be a part of
self-care

personal growth

enlightenment

I can't fake it

I can't feign that 

things are okay

or getting better 

or healing

when I am surrounded by

and 

all I can see is

scorched-earth 

in all directions 

as far as the horizon.

I am weary of
emotionally bleeding out
every time I try.

The energy and the injury is too much

and I won't pretend

or try

anymore.

The eternal question

Curled up on the star-lit back patio

in an oversized zero gravity chair

on a fabulously comfortable bright cushion,

mesmerised  by the citronella candles

flickering in the fire pit,

I consider my contentment,

my delight at being alone

in this perfectly ordered world of mine.

Truly, I am very relaxed and happy.


So why, oh why,

does a tiny corner of my mind wish that...

I could be sharing this evening peace

with a partner?


It's my perfect evening.


What would be the point of screwing it up?

Monuments

Graveyard of past relationships

trash heap/protective coloring

pompous monument to his ego

impregnable shell over superficial self

Get screwed

He kept a lot of my stuff.

So I kept a lot of his stuff.

One of those items was

a very nice rechargeable screwdriver.

The real irony of it all is

how much I have utilized it

to remove all traces of him 

from my home.

I sure feel a lot of glee

every time I charge it

and

use it. 

Lots of satisfaction in

throwing out piles of wood and signs 

brackets and screws, gates and furniture 

other assorted detritus....

Less and less of that trash all the time

but keeping

the tool.

Signs, symbols, and spiritual experiences

I dress, contemplating the wonder

of being able to dress

of having decent, properly fitting clothing

of getting enough sleep to have some energy and peace

of my commitment to meds and self care

   to make all of the above happen.

Life story: abuse and neglect lead to addiction and mental illness.

I totally get blamed by others for all aspects of the the life story

but get no credit for the miracle...

the miracle, for me, being recovery from the life story.

Maybe the marvel of all this is how it is supposed to be, for normies

but to me

it is still amazing, to be alive and functional and content

instead of half-suicidal, emotionally paralyzed, and insanely angry/depressed.

Driving to work

I consider the blue truck in front of me

driven by a woman

who has felt compelled to arm her windows and bumpers

with female-themed, gun-related stickers and clings,

assuring the world she is 'packing' and a lifelong 'terrorist'.

I think of the solitary vinyl adornment on the liftgate of my car:

     c-o-e-x-i-s-t

the letters intertwined with symbols of various world religions

and marvel at the differences of gender, background, and belief.

And all of this...sign posts from my Higher Power,

leading

   instructing

     soothing

       healing

         enlightening.

becoming ii

Time, my time, is so 

incredibly precious to me.

Every minute I have on my own

Is necessary to charge 

my internal batteries and sense of self

especially after the delightful, 

and yes, necessary,

interactions of friends and work and family  and recovery.

I love them and need them all, 

but they drain me so....

Not to mention the time needed 

to recover from 50 plus years of 

not recognizing or meeting 

my own need for that recharging, 

let alone the unawareness, 

not to mention the blatant disrespect and disinterest of many others of that need

(even when expressly and explicitly stated) 

many of whom were often recklessly responsible for drawing that inside battery down to zero.

Weekends are now times of blissful quiet

setting my own schedule

making unilateral decisions

with no regard needed or desired for others' requests or desires

Just my own are now in the equation

So joyful and satisfying 

to love and respect myself 

on a level that I never have 

or even knew I should or could

before now

becoming

I watched the movie

(I read her book last year).

About three-quarters of the way through it,

tears began track down my face as

I grieved for our country and

I remembered when

our leadership was intelligent, classy, poised, and thoughtful.

But...the film gave me hope

that someday soon, it can be that way again.

Surely, the change is coming...

and we will heal.

quarantine thoughts

It is kind of magic

to be home from work 

in the middle of the day. 

I still have to work, 

but limited hours. 

It's so quiet in my house 

and my neighborhood, 

that it is actually quite eerie.

My Inner Kids want to 

watch cartoons 

so we decide on 

the PBS live stream 

to watch a gentle hour or so of 

Daniel Tiger.

Messages flow back and forth 

between my sisters and I.

I am happy. 

I'm glad not to be sick, and 

I'm sad for those who are, but 

overall 

this doesn't seem so bad to me. 

I gets lots of recharge time and 

I'm getting along with 

most of my family, 

perhaps for the first time in 

my entire life.

Two spirits

I rub his foot with a towel,

after a soak in epsom and hot water

I study the calluses, the toenails, the shape of his feet, 

so identical to my own and I am startled, 

though I know my heritage and this truth and I always have.

He is slightly tense, but I shake his legs gently 

as my hands enclose his calves and massage his feet, 

teasing him to relax.

I have a moment of shocking clarity...

...when Christ looks out of my eyes at

my father,

as I wash his feet.

***

My sister and I take books off the shelves 

as we keep up a running patter of

harassment of each other, 

self-deprecation, and 

joking with our daddy

I play Tetris in the boxes, 

as I carefully fit a fairly small sample of 

my parents' books into them 

for the journey to my home

We both insist our father stay seated 

so that he doesn't do more or do too much, 

as he always does.

We relay the boxes to the car, 

marveling at our 50 plus year old backs 

that are complaining vigorously 

about our efforts

Daddy studies the newly empty shelves, 

plotting their renewal.

I watch my precious father as I wonder if 

the impromptu pedi and 

the moment of spiritual connection 

is reinvigorating him.

Did he feel it too?

***

At home, I consider my shelves, 

and the boxes of books.

My parents' spirits gently

expand into my home, 

like they never have been

(allowed to)

since I was 18.

More will be revealed

The baby that was lost

the child claimed as a girl

(years after her death)

the child of my soul

the daughter of my old age

the offspring who could have loved

without judgment, abandonment

an unplanned surprise, taken at almost

the moment of acceptance.

I sure hadn't planned to spend my

middle and old age

without either of them.

I am sorry, for not wanting you enough

soon enough

for you to want to stay.

Either

of

you.